


Picture Perfect

by RobinLeStrange



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: Boudoir photo shoot, Burlesque, F/M, Masturbation, Other, Smut, all's well that ends well, dressing up, mixed up photos, mmom, mortifcation, shirt borrowing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:49:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24477478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinLeStrange/pseuds/RobinLeStrange
Summary: At a drink fuelled girls night in, April and Vanessa talk Robin into a post-divorce, morale boosting boudoir photo shoot.Cue white lies, borrowed shirts, fantasising, mixed up envelopes, more fantasising, much embarrassment and a happy (Smutty!) ending.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 45
Kudos: 87
Collections: Merry Month of Masturbation 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hobbeshalftail3469](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbeshalftail3469/gifts), [LulaIsAKitten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/gifts).



“So,” giggled April Wardle with a glint in her eye as Robin divided the last of the second bottle of rose between their glasses, “Who wants to see what I got up to for my birthday last month?”

They were at Vanessa’s flat, the three women enjoying a long overdue Saturday night catch up over pizza, wine and ice cream.

“Do we really want to see?” asked Vanessa archly. She knew April liked to shock and that Robin had lived a somewhat sheltered life until fairly recently. She was also mindful of the fact that April’s antics might have involved Strike’s ex, Lorelei, or God forbid, she thought, Coco. Whilst Robin had never admitted to having feelings for Strike beyond the platonic, Vanessa had seen more than enough interaction between the two partners to be convinced it was bubbling just below the surface of their relationship.

“C’mon,” said Robin, slurring slightly as she licked the last of the chocolate ice cream off a long-handled teaspoon, “Can’t be that bad…spill.”

With a gleeful grin, April pulled an A4 sized hardback book from her tote bag.

“Feast your eyes on this, ladies,” she announced, opening it up on the coffee table between them.

Vanessa raised her eyebrows and Robin’s jaw dropped as they saw the contents, a series of beautifully shot and extremely sexy boudoir style photographs of April in various states of both costume and undress.

“Bugger me!” exclaimed Robin.

“They’re very…actually they are very tasteful,” complimented Vanessa. “Better than the ones I had done a couple of years back anyway.”

Robin head swivelled round.

“You’ve done this as well?!” she asked, incredulous.

Vanessa shrugged.

“You ought to give it try Robin,” urged April, “Great way to get you mojo back after…y’know The Twat. How long’s it been now? Eight months?”

“Oh my GOD, I couldn’t. There’s just no way…in any case, I’m not sure I ever had much of a mojo to get back,” she admitted, blushing. Her burgeoning self-confidence in the bedroom department had, like her university career, been cut short when she was raped, and despite Matthew’s patience at the time, had never fully recovered. Still Robin had been surprised to discover that she’d been more interested in sex since splitting from Matthew than she had been when she was with him. She supposed it was a simple case of wanting what she couldn’t have…not that she wanted to have that with Matthew ever again!

“To be fair,” said Vanessa, “That’s exactly what I said…well not the lack of mojo bit,” she winked.

“I had mine done after I split with my ex fiancé, and it was a massive ego boost. Some of them were…here…” she scrolled through her phone and passed it to Robin. “I keep the three best ones on there for when I’m needing a bit of extra self-confidence,” she grinned.

Robin couldn’t imagine anyone less in need of a confidence boost than Vanessa or April, but she had to admit the photos were stunning with soft focus, black and white backgrounds whilst Vanessa stood in the foreground, her dark curves swathed in shimmering scarlet satin.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” teased April.

“Well, I…I mean it’s a nice idea but taking my clothes off in front of a stranger in a studio, and I wouldn’t have a clue what to do with myself or what to cover up with.”

“These…” April tapped the book, which Robin was still leafing through, fascinated, “Were taken by a friend of mine – Sofi O. If you were interested, I’m sure she’d do mates rates, and she has a mobile studio set up so she could do it in your own home.”

“I can see the look on Gary’s face,” giggled Robin, thinking of her very gay, very camp flatmate. “He’d either be trying to direct her, or after getting his own set done! Anyway, I bet I’d still manage to look a prat,” said Robin, slightly crestfallen.

The photos of April in particular had reminded her of Strike’s ex-girlfriend, Lorelei. Glamorous in the style of Jane Mansfield or Veronica Lake, Robin had never seen her without immaculate hair and make-up, colourful clothes that showed off her curves, and high heels. She had been thoroughly likeable, which had irritated Robin for reasons she dared not give too much thought to, but had also inadvertently made her feel pale, uninteresting and little dowdy by comparison.

Over the months since her separation, Robin had realised that she and Strike were becoming closer than ever, but still anything beyond friendship eluded them. She presumed that for all their mutual respect, friendship and affection he simply didn’t see her that way, and the photo book only served to remind her just how long it had been since she’d felt truly like a woman.

As if she could hear the cogs turning in Robin’s brain, April nudged her.

“Go on…it’ll be fun. I can help you with clothes and make-up, style you a bit…it’ll be like the end of Grease where Frenchie gives Sandy a makeover…”

“Oooh can I come and help?” squealed Vanessa, affecting an American accent and part-quoting the film, “I promise to bring Twinkies and dessert wine!”

Robin sighed and rolled her eyes good naturedly.

“I’ll think about it.”

* * *

A few days later, Robin was eating her lunch at her desk in the otherwise empty office when her mobile phone buzzed.

**Spoke to Sofi. She can do next Saturday week at your place if your flatmate’s still going away and you fancy it. Let me know what you think. Axxx**

Robin pondered for a few minutes before replying. She’d Googled ‘boudoir photoshoot’ after her initial conversation with April and Vanessa and been pleasantly surprised by what she saw. There appeared to be various ways of styling such a shoot subtly. Admittedly she’d be somewhat out of her comfort zone, but that hadn’t stopped her doing all manner of other things in the past and it had been a while since she’d challenged herself, getting on top of her panic attacks and through the divorce having taken up all her spare energy in recent months. Besides, she reasoned with herself, April would be there to help her out, and it would all be in the privacy of her own home with a female photographer. What was the worst that could happen? That it would be hilariously funny rather than sexy? Best case scenario she might end up with a few decent photos to look back on when she was older and saggier.

_Go on then, you’ve convinced me. Gary’s going straight from work on the Friday so just let me know what time you need to come over on the Saturday to set up and tart me up! Rx_

**I thought you wanted subtle?! I can do tarty if you like! Axxx**

_You know what I mean. Rx_

**Fab…have a look at some pics online and maybe send some ideas to me beforehand so I can see what I can bring costume wise. I’ll email you some tips later. Axxx**

True to her word, after a few exchanges of photos, web links and general ideas, Robin received a comprehensive list from April of how to prepare for the shoot.

> _**Mission: Robin gets her mojo back!** _
> 
>   * _Underwear – you’ll need some fancy stuff, even if it’s only minimally on show it’ll make you feel good. Also, some simple nude underwear that’s easy to Photoshop out if you want to appear completely naked in any of the pics without actually getting your kit off.  
>   
> _
>   * _Clothes – the ones you mentioned from your own wardrobe sound great. Man’s lumberjack or dress shirt? I’ll bring round some of my more substantial burlesque costumes in case you’re feeling adventurous on the day! I know I’m a bit curvier but we can always tweak with some carefully positioned bulldog clips – pinch some from the office?!  
>   
> _
>   * _Space – if you clear as much space as you can in your sitting room and bedroom, we can go from there on the day depending on the natural lighting etc. If you want bed shots, plain white sheets etc. are probably best.  
>   
> _
>   * _Hair and make-up – don’t do anything! I will bring all my kit on the day._  
>   
> 
>   * _Wine – obviously! I’ll bring some too  
>   
> _
>   * _Playlist – of all your favourite sexy tunes, help get you in the mood._
> 

> 
> _See you next Saturday!!_
> 
> _PS…best way to get yourself glowing is an orgasm or two beforehand 😉😜_

Robin read the last line of advice and snorted. Chance would be a fine thing she thought, although of course there were ways and means, one of which were carefully stashed under a neatly folded pile of scarves in her bedside drawer. Her mind wandered to the last time she’d taken her 'rabbit' for a test drive after a particularly long day in the office with Strike.

She’d dreamt about him the previous night and arrived at Denmark Street with her equilibrium already well and truly ruffled, only to discover that his surveillance job that morning had been cancelled and he was also office bound for the day. She was sure she must have imagined him popping in and out of his office more frequently than usual, lingering over making the tea. He’d leaned casually back against the kitchen counter chatting as the kettle boiled, his black trousers and shirt showing off the change to his physique since he’d starting eating a healthier diet and swimming regularly. He must’ve dressed in a hurry as Robin couldn’t fail to notice that one more button than usual was undone, revealing a tantalising glimpse of the same dark chest hair she’d felt against her naked breasts in her dream. By the time she’d reached her flat that evening, she’d been desperate for relief.

She was already flushed, her eyes glazed at the memory as the door opened and Strike walked in.

“Robin…are you ok? You look like you’re going down with something?”

She felt herself redden even further as his choice of phrase sent an altogether more graphic image through her brain.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she stuttered, “Miles away. Good morning?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin gives into temptation whilst preparing for the photo shoot.

Robin sat at her desk the following Thursday, fiddling nervously with a paperclip as she waited for Strike to come back from the bathroom. She’d been trying to pluck up the courage to ask him all week, and knew that if she bottled it now, she have to go shopping after work, which, she reflected might have been a better idea, had the Land Rover not just failed it’s MOT and cost her a small fortune.

She tried to focus on the work in front of her and he’d almost made it to his office by the time she finally managed to speak.

“Er…Cormoran?”

He came back into the room, lingering at the glass partition.

“Yep?”

“Can I ask you a favour…it’s a bit left-field but…do you have a white dress shirt I could borrow over the weekend at all?”

“Dress shirt?” his eyebrows flickered briefly with curiosity.

“Yeah, I’m…um…I’ve got this fancy-dress thing on,” she racked her brain for the name of the Julie Andrews film she was trying to think of, “It’s a Victor/Victoria theme…friend of a friend of Gary’s.”

She crossed her fingers under the table hoping she sounded plausible, and that she hadn’t mentioned Gary being away this weekend.

He chuckled. “Sure, I’ll look it out for you. Might be just a wee bit on the big side though,” he joked.

“Oh, that’s ok,” replied Robin, remembering April’s list of instructions, “I’m sure I can do something with a bulldog clip.”

* * *

True to his word, Strike arrived downstairs the following morning with the shirt on a hanger.

“There you go,” he said, hanging it on the coat stand. “I’m afraid I remembered I did wear it for a couple of hours last week for a meeting, but it was too late by the time I looked it out to get to the laundrette. It’s serviceable but you might want to throw it through the washing machine before tomorrow night.”

“No problem,” replied Robin, desperately trying not to wonder if it would smell of him. He was indicating a small plastic bag hanging from the hook and saying something…

“…cufflinks in there and a bow tie in case you need it,” he grinned. “You know I’m going to want to see the photos…”

Robin choked on her coffee and spluttered.

“You okay?” Strike asked, concerned.

“Yeah, fine. Went down the wrong way. Thanks for all that, I’ll bring them back Monday.”

* * *

Saturday morning dawned bright and sunny, and Robin realised that by early afternoon the warm, early summer light would be streaming through the French doors in the sitting room and her bedroom window, perfect for the photo session.

She ate breakfast and spent the morning pottering about, tidying up, changing her bed and organising all the outfits she was considering. She took delivery of the grocery shop, put the prosecco and pre-mixed porn star martini in the fridge to chill and headed for the bathroom with an assortment of products to prepare for the afternoon.

Wandering into her bedroom an hour later, she caught sight of Strike’s shirt hanging on the back of the door and paused momentarily to stroke the thick, soft cotton. She recalled the meeting he’d worn it to the previous week and an image of him looking positively edible in the shirt and his Italian suit popped into her mind’s eye. She’d not bothered throwing it the washing machine the previous evening, figuring she’d launder it after she’d worn it. Guiltily, she leaned forward and tentatively sniffed the shirt, near the collar. It smelt of laundry detergent, laced with a hint of smoke, woody aftershave and something else that was distinctly, deliciously Cormoran. She breathed in more deeply and felt shockwave of lust ripple through her. Suddenly she remembered April’s tip.

She couldn’t, could she?

_No. Absolutely not._

Robin pulled her robe tighter around her and swiftly exited the bedroom, heading for the kitchen and the prosecco in the hopes it might calm her nerves a little. Unsurprisingly it did nothing of the sort, and ten minutes later she was still thoroughly distracted and hornier than ever. She knew the issue could be quickly resolved, but she craved more and it was a while since she’d had the opportunity of an empty house. She was too self-conscious to break out the vibrating ‘lifelike’ dildo she’d been gifted by her old friend Katie as a ‘happy divorce’ present, with Gary asleep down the hallway.

She glanced at the clock on the microwave. Just over an hour until the girls and the photographer arrived. There was still time…

The scent of forest, smoke and musk that was so uniquely Cormoran was still in her nostrils - or maybe it was her imagination – as she opened the bedroom door, slipped the shirt guiltily from the hanger and draped it carefully over her pillow. She rummaged beneath the scarves in her bedside drawer, extracted a small bottle of warming lube and the vibrator, the lay back on the bed, eyes closed and let her imagination take over.

She pictured the gorgeous room she’d stayed in at Hazlitt’s courtesy of Strike, the first time she’d left Matthew, with its cosy décor and luxurious four poster bed. In her fantasy she was wearing the green dress, and there was a knock on the door, she opened it, knowing instinctively who was on the other side. Sure enough, there he was, leaning against the door frame in a black evening suit, bow tie hanging undone around his neck, top buttons of his crisp white shirt undone to reveal a tempting glimpse of chest hair, the sight of which sent a bolt of lust straight to Robin’s core.

“Cormoran…” her voice came out as barely more than a whisper.

“I forgot something,” he announced, his tone husky, “May I come in?”

Wordlessly she opened the door and stepped aside, her senses overwhelmed by his proximity, the scent that came with him of whisky and good cigars.

She swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her rib cage.

“What was it you forgot?”

He turned and took a step closer, his intense green gaze devouring every inch of her body before coming to rest, lingeringly on her full, deep pink lips.

“This…”

She imagined his lips on hers, hungry but gentle as he backed her up against the wall behind the door, the length of his body pressed warm against her, his arousal tantalisingly evident against her stomach. She tried to imagine how his well-muscled arse would feel in her hands as she tugged him closer, the sounds he would make as she ground against him, then reached down to trail her fingernails lightly over the bulge of his cock beneath his smart dress trousers.

With a small whimper, Robin shrugged aside her robe, cupping her breasts, ghosting her thumbs across both nipples, imagining they were Cormoran’s large hands divesting her body of its green silk covering, rather than her own pushing aside white towelling. She stroked lower, parting her thighs and finding she was just as wet as she’d suspected, but reaching for the lube nonetheless, knowing it’s warming sensation added something else to her enjoyment.

She picked up the vibrator and switched it on to a low rumble, before stroking it between her slick folds, eyes tightly shut as she concentrated on imagining it was Cormoran’s hard cock between her legs, sliding against her and then into her. She turned her head into her shirt draped pillow and inhaled a delicious lungful of tobacco and musk.

She worked the vibrator excruciatingly slowly at first, revelling in the imagined sensation of Cormoran thrusting slowly in and out of her slick heat, but soon she was arching her hips up and moaning softly at the glorious friction she was creating. Desperate for more, and knowing exactly how to get there, she paused and rolled onto her knees, pulled two of her pillows down the bed and, positioning the vibrator at her entrance once again, she straddled them and slide slowly down its length, eyes tightly shut so as not to disrupt the illusion she was trying to create.

She rode it slowly and determinedly, grinding her core down into the pillows until she was desperate for release. Clinging on the headboard with one hand, she reached to stroke her clit with the other, her breath coming faster and faster as she stroked and circled the swollen bud.

Again, Robin tried to conjour up the kind of sounds he might make if they ever found themselves in a similar position, the way he might growl her name as she slid up and down his shaft, how his incomprehensively thick mat of chest hair might feel beneath her fingertips.

She had a good imagination and the thoughts filling her head were threatening to tip her over the edge, although a part of her yearned to spin out her pleasure even longer. She forced herself to maintain a steady rhythm until her thighs began the tell-tale tremble and liquid heat pooled at her centre. She buried her head in the remaining pillows, draped with Strike’s shirt, and the potent hit of his scent catapulted her into the most intense climax she’d experienced in her recent memory. It wasn’t until a couple of minutes later, once her breathing had normalised and her heart rate slowed, that she had enough cognitive function to hope that she hadn’t shouted his name quite as loudly as she suspected.

Glancing at her bedside clock, Robin realised she’d spent longer pleasuring herself than she’d anticipated and hurried to wash up and pack away the evidence before her friends and the photographer arrived.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A busy day at the office leads to an embarrassing mix up

Ten days later Robin was at her desk in Denmark Street when her mobile buzzed. It was April Wardle.

**Hi Robin. Saw Sofi yesterday. She’s finished you proofs so I said I’d drop them off as I’m passing by your office later today. Hope you don’t mind, but I took a sneaky peek and they are FAB-U-LOUS!!! Did you manage to part with Corm’s shirt in the end?! Axx**

Robin grinned and rolled her eyes, just as Strike meandered out of his own office to make tea.

“You’re looking pleased with yourself, Ellacott,” he commented, noticing the phone in her hand, “What’s up?”

“Oh, er, nothing, just a silly message from April…”

She had, of course, returned Strike’s shirt, laundered and neatly pressed the Monday after her photo shoot, but not before having to withstand a lot of teasing from April and Vanessa. She had had no intention to getting into a conversation about where it came from, but as soon as they had seen her in it, they’d asked, mainly due to the size of it swamping her in a way that worked brilliantly for the photos, but rather gave away the fact it belonged to a larger than average male.

“I just borrowed it from a friend,” Robin had responded, with as much chutzpah as she could muster. She’d seen the glance that her friends exchanged but stuck to her resolve to say no more. It was Sofi suggesting they try a few shots with cufflinks that gave the game away. Robin had asked April to fetch them, not realising that alongside the simple silver tone ones Strike wore regularly, were his old military cufflinks, bearing the insignia of the Royal Military Police.

“So that’s whose shirt it is,” she grinned, waving the cufflinks for Vanessa to see as Robin watched on, mortified. “Does he know what you’ve borrowed it for?”

“No, he bloody doesn’t and it’s staying that way,” retorted Robin, flushing scarlett. “I told him I was going to a fancy-dress party.”

“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with us, isn’t it V?” April had assured her, as she and Vanessa collapsed in a fit of laughter.

* * *

Robin’s day became steadily busier and busier. She and Strike tried as far as possible to have Wednesday’s in the office together to review the agency’s overall caseload, catch up on paperwork and meet with prospective clients. They had five scheduled in, which involved a certain amount of office swapping as they both used Strike’s more private office for one-to-one meetings. Eric Wardle popped in to discuss a case they were working on with MET, that was just one vital piece of information away from being resolved. That necessitated a call to Shanker who popped in after lunch to discuss a plan of action with Strike. Robin had just finished her sandwich at nearly half past two when April arrived.

“It’s like Piccadilly circus here today,” she commented by way of a greeting. She’d been followed up the stairs by Robin’s new potential client who was waiting behind her, having crossed paths with Strike’s previous one as she’d entered. Strike was now just on his way out of his office with Shanker and the phone was ringing.

“I’ll leave them here for you and give you a call later,” April smiled, waving the envelope and dropping it on top of Robin’s in-tray. Robin nodded her thanks as she answered the phone with one hand, directed her client to take a seat with other mouthed ‘goodbye’ to Shanker simultaneously.

Strike smiled indulgently at his business partner, whose knack for multi-tasking he found almost as sexy as her many other attributes, both intellectual and physical, although he did his best not to spend too much time dwelling on the latter.

He made tea for himself, Robin and her new client while she finished her phone call then ushered them through to his office, sitting down at Robin’s to continue with his paperwork, and await the arrival of Barclay, who he was expecting to drop off some photos of a young woman whose married former lover suspected her of stalking his wife.

An hour later, they did a final office swap for the last meeting of the day. Strike’s door was still shut when Robin packed up to leave, so she fired him a quick text to let him know she’d see him the following day, stuffed the envelope of photos from April into her capacious bag, and set off to catch the Tube home.

* * *

A few minutes after Robin left, Strike concluded his meeting and saw his new client out. More often than not he stayed downstairs working until he was ready to eat, but on this occasion, he really wasn’t in the mood. It had been a busy and disjointed day with no real opportunity to build up momentum on any one case, and he had a early surveillance job the following morning, so he washed up his mug then returned briefly to his office to tidy his notes and grab his laptop before heading up to his flat. As he passed Robin’s desk, he noticed the brown envelope of photos that Barclay had dropped off earlier, and decided as he was leaving so early the least he could do was take a look a them later than evening from the comfort of his own tiny sofa.

Strike made his way upstairs, dropped his laptop and the envelope on the little Formica table between his kitchen and living area and switched the kettle on before thinking better of it and opting instead for a bottle of Doom Bar.

He dropped into his armchair and reached for the remote control, checked the 24-hour news channel and then looked at the TV guide to see what time the Arsenal match was due to start that evening. He deliberated removing his prosthesis and going for a shower after his beer, but then the envelope caught his eye. On a long yawn, he stretched out and tweaked the enveloped off the table, rubbing his eyes with one hand as he fumbled it open and gently shook the contents out with the other.

_Holy shit!_

Strike was pretty sure that, outside his military service, he had never moved from half asleep to wide awake so fast in his entire life. For the photos were not, as he had anticipated, those of a vengeful scorned mistress following the wife of her former lover, but of a smouldering, scantily clad Robin. He recognised the name of the photographer, whose logo was watermarked across the corner of each image, as a friend of the Wardle’s he had met at one or two of their parties previously.

So that was what Robin and April had been giggling about on the phone.

He tried not to look at the photographs as he hastily gathered them up with, he realised to his chagrin, slightly trembling fingers. They’d fallen in such disarray though that he was forced to look at each one at least briefly to reassemble them the right way up before returning to the envelope. After all, he was sure Robin would be mortified if she knew he’d seen them, and if he returned them to the office before the morning, she need never know. And she would know if they were in a muddle, so he was doing the right thing, really, he told himself, in a roundabout kind of way…

He took a deep breath and a long pull on his beer. He needed to return the envelope to the office, but that would have to wait until he got his body back under control.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A horrified Robin discovers her mistake, and a guilty Strike realises there is only one way he's going to be able to get sleep after seeing the results of his partner's photoshoot.

Robin was itching with anticipation as she disembarked the tube at Earl’s Court and began the ten-minute walk back to her flat. For all her initial reluctance, she had thoroughly enjoyed the photo shoot, and been impressed with the brief preview of the photos that Sofi had given her on the screen of her digital camera. But that was nearly two weeks ago and no substitute for the real thing.

She sped up a little as she approached her front door, fumbling for her keys and hoping Gary, her flatmate, wouldn’t be at home waiting to accost her in the hallway with the gossip from the play he was currently rehearsing. Finding the place empty, she headed straight for the sitting room and threw herself onto the sofa, kicked off her heels and put her feet up. She had butterflies in her stomach as she peeled open the envelope and pulled out the enclosed photos.

Robin stared at the images in front of her for several seconds. Taken with a long lens they showed a twenty-something blonde sitting in a car with a small pair of binoculars, her gaze clearly trained on a dark-haired woman of around forty who was leaving the school playground with two small children in tow.

_Fuck!_

Robin felt the colour drain from her face. If these were Barclay’s photos, then hers were sitting on the top of her in-tray, and did she vaguely recall Strike saying he needed to look at the former this evening as he was due to the client’s solicitor tomorrow? She glanced at her watch, calculating quickly in her head. Strike didn’t usually close up until gone seven, and he’d been engrossed when she left. If she went straight back out now, she could probably get to the office and swap the envelopes over before he emerged from his office.

Eschewing her heels in the name of speed, she slipped on her trainers and headed back to Earl’s Court station at a jog.

* * *

Having spent a considerable amount of time reviewing a file of particularly grim evidence by way of a distraction technique, Strike closed the lid of his laptop, rubbed his hand across his thickly stubbled jaw, sighed heavily and reached for the envelope.

He hadn’t even made it to the door before he felt a resurgence of his previous arousal.  
  
“Fuckin’ pack it in,” he admonished his disobliging cock as he began his descent. He was so distracted he didn’t register the sound of footsteps coming in the opposite direction, and as he and Robin met on the landing outside the office, they both halted abruptly and laughed, briefly recalling their first encounter rather than the reason they were currently there.

Then Robin saw Strike glance down at her fingers, wrapped around the envelope that she was already pulling from her bag. At the same time, she noticed that he too was carrying a large, brown envelope. For a second she forgot to breathe, while Strike, who could feel the heat rising in his own cheeks wondered if he was actually turning the same shade of beet red as Robin.

“I um…” he stammered, “…wrong envelope.”

Robin swallowed hard. “Likewise…swap?”

He handed over her photographs as she passed him the fruits of Barclay’s surveillance.

“I didn’t look at them,” he reassured her, eliciting a raised eyebrow in response. “Well, I mean obviously I saw what was in there to know it was the wrong envelope, but I didn’t look…properly…”

“Right,” she replied slowly, “Well I’d better get going…”

“Yeah…have a good evening.”

“You too.”

She turned and made her way quickly down the stairs, so wrapped up in her own mortification that she didn’t realise Strike was watching her until she disappeared out of the front door.

* * *

A portion of Singapore noodles, three more beers, two fingers of whisky and a cold shower later, Strike climbed naked into bed, cursing his near photographic memory and trying not to let the mental images of Robin in various states of undress seep into his consciousness.

It was utterly useless.

The first photo had seen her in a leather jacket worn open with nothing beneath, the pale skin of her torso disappearing into a pair of open skinny indigo jeans which revealed a sliver of cranberry coloured lace underwear.

In another, which he suspected April had been responsible for styling, she knelt on her bed in a shimmering gold embroidered corset with matching knickers and lace topped stockings, peeking over a creamy ostrich feather fan with a mischievous grin. Her hair had been arranged in Forties style curls, and the black winged eyeliner and deep crimson lipstick gave her an exotic air.

Strike found he felt strangely less guilty about picturing that image, probably because she looked so much less like ‘his’ Robin.

 _Seriously?_ He mentally cursed Shanker for the day he’d put that phrase in his head. He thought of her that way far more often than was appropriate these days, since her divorce had been finalised.

He’d been significantly more ruffled by the photo of her seated on her bed, back to the camera, her hair drawn up in a sleek chignon that exposed the nape of her neck. She was naked, save the shock of poison green dress which pooled around her hips, and a long string of pearls that fell down the entire length of her spine to the just visible cleft of her bottom.

He was fully aroused now, recalling guiltily how he’d lingered on that particular image, tracing his finger lightly over the pearls as if by doing so he could bring it to life, and replace the cascade of luminescent orbs with his lips.

Strike shifted uncomfortably in bed, a small moan issuing from the depths of his throat at the delicious friction of the white cotton duvet cover against his erection. He shuddered with the effort of resisting the temptation to touch himself. Thinking was one thing, acting on it was another, and something he had managed to avoid over the many, many tortuous months since he had admitted his feelings for Robin to himself.

The thought of white cotton was his undoing though, sending his mind catapulting back to the images of her in his shirt, of which there had been several…sitting at her dressing table, long legs crossed, feet encased in silver stilettos as she fastened his cufflinks…silhouetted against the French doors of her sitting room, back to the camera, apparently about to remove the short…and finally the one that had completely shattered his equilibrium. Robin striding confidently toward the camera, devoid of make-up, wearing nothing but a pair of black lace shorts and the shirt. Her cheeks were flushed, hair wet, and the shirt was just damp enough to make the curve of her breasts and the dark, pointed nipples visible through the fabric.

The recollection was too much. A bolt of sheer want shot through Strike and his hand went instinctively to his cock, his fingers wrapping around his straining length as a deep sigh of relief escaped him.

He knew he’d regret this in the morning when he would no doubt struggle to look Robin in the eye, but right now he needed it too much to stop.

He stroked slowly, his grasp loose, his head back in his pillows as he pictured her straddling him in the damp, white shirt. He imagined reaching for her, his fingertips making contact with her hard nipples through the cool cotton, the whimpers of pleasure his touch might elicit.

He wondered how it might feel to pull her down to him, feel her skin against his own and slide his tongue into her warm, welcoming mouth. His cock was aching beneath his fingers now and he ceased his movements for a moment, trying to delay his pleasure.

But then he was thinking about how the black lace shorts might feel as she ground her hips against him, whether she’d need to remove them completely or if he could just push them aside to caress her clit, to thrust up into her tight, wet heat.

His breathing was fast, increasingly erratic as he his kicked the duvet aside and began working his cock in earnest, his thumb sliding around the silky tip, wet with pre-cum.

He was powerless now to extinguish the mental image of Robin above him, shucking his shirt off her pale freckled shoulders so he could see the bounce and sway of her perfect breasts as she rode him hard.

He could almost hear the sound of her breathing, her moans of pleasure as he imagined fucking up into her, creating a perfect rhythm between them.

Somewhere in reality he was aware of the heat curling at the base of his spine, and he tightened his grip around his shaft, pumping his fist harder, faster, unable to hold back the soft grunts of pure carnal pleasure escaping his uneven lips as he climaxed, harder than he had ever previously done by his own hand.

He lay for several minutes, still and breathless as his pleasure began to slowly subside. He reached for a nearby towel, cleaned himself up and curled under his duvet, feeling sated but somewhat ashamed of himself as he drifted into sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Strike battle their mutual embarrassment the day after 'Photogate', but curry night with the Herberts is looming.

Robin was deeply relieved to find Strike already out on surveillance when she arrived at the office the following morning. She scanned the diary and the current case load, wondering if it was possible to make herself scarce before he arrived back, and feeling a sick lurch in her stomach when she realised it wasn’t possible. Barclay was on annual leave, Hutchins was working an undercover job on the other side of town and her late afternoon meeting couldn’t be rescheduled.

_Bugger._

Strike arrived bearing sandwiches shortly after one o’clock, depositing the Cheese Ploughman’s (no onion) packet on her desk along with a packet of salt and vinegar crisps and a slightly sheepish smile.

“How’re you doing?”

“Good,” she said, tapping the printouts she had spread out over her desk, “Plenty of social media information on the new mark. How were those photos?”

Strike started for a minute before realising she was referring to the ones Barclay had taken, rather than the ones that had been indelibly captured in his mind and rendering him seriously distracted since the previous evening.

“Yeah, they were good. We should have what we need for the solicitor. I’m meeting him there in an hour so best eat this and crack on,” he said, waving his own sandwich. “Tea?”

She nodded, not meeting his eye. She’d noticed his brief moment of fluster when she’d asked about the photos and was cursing herself for not engaging her brain before speaking. Still, she thought, he’d soon be out for the rest of the afternoon, and then there was just tomorrow to get through until the weekend and a couple of days breathing space. They’d be fine after that, she told herself, firmly.

She was still trying to convince herself that the weirdness would pass when Strike left the office for his meeting forty minutes. She had just let out an audible sigh of relief when her phone bleeped an incoming text message.

**Hey Robin. Hope you’re having a good week. Don’t forget it’s curry night tomorrow – see you at half seven? Ils xx**

Bollocks. So much for breathing space.

Robin knew she invariably let her guard down at curry night, and that since her divorce had been finalised, Strike seemed to be similarly more relaxed and open. She wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about the combination of lowered boundaries and alcohol so soon after ‘photogate’ as she had mentally dubbed the situation.

_Erm, actually Ils, I think tomorrow might be a bit tricky…_

**But we’ve had it in the diary for a month!**

_I know it’s just…._

_Sorry, something’s come up…_

She deleted both messages.

_Are you working? Can I call you?_

**Sure x**

“…so the thing is,” Robin concluded, having nervously explained the situation, “I’m just worried it’s going to be hideously awkward. Maybe it’s better if I drop out?”

“Rubbish,” replied Ilsa. “You’ve got to get over it at work, so you may as well start tomorrow night. You know Nick and Corm will probably spend half the night in the garden discussing the bloody Champions League in any case.”

Robin had to grudgingly admit this was probably true.

“So you’ll come then? Great. Just one thing…”

“What?”

“Come round early and bring the photos – I’m dying to see them now!”

* * *

When Robin arrived at Octavia Street the following evening Ilsa had two glasses of chilled white wine waiting and there was no sign of Nick.

“What have you done with your husband?” giggled Robin in spite of herself as they sat at the kitchen table.

“Sent him out for more booze…to Waitrose…on foot, so that should keep him out of the way for a while. Let’s have a look then.”

Robin hesitated for a moment, then dug the envelope out of her bag and passed it to Ilsa, who spread the prints out on the table for closer inspection.  
“Wow…these are…pretty spectacular. No wonder you two haven’t been able to look each other in the eye for the last forty-eight hours.” Ilsa shot her a cheeky grin, picking up one of the photos of Robin wearing Strike’s white shirt, “This one is stunning…if I didn’t know better, I’d say that was an FFL you were wearing…along with my best mate’s shirt.”

“A what?!”

“FFL…Freshly Fucked Look,” teased Ilsa mercilessly as Robin turned an interesting shade of puce and downed the remainder of her first glass of wine in one mouthful.

Suddenly Ilsa’s mouth dropped as a thought occurred to her. “It’s not is it…an FFL?”

Robin blushed even harder.

“Oh my God! It is! Are you seeing someone? Did you…before the shoot?”

“Chance would be a fine thing,” mumbled Robin, “The only action I’m getting these days is courtesy of Roger the Rampant Rabbit and a vivid imagination.”

“Righto!” exclaimed Ilsa, somewhat shocked at Robin’s frank confession. Robin merely shrugged her shoulders and helped herself to more wine. It had been quite a week.

“Perhaps you ought to consider dating again,” suggested Ilsa. “It’s been a while now. Get online and see who’s out there.”

“Nah, no point,” replied Robin, slightly distracted as she gathered up the photographs, remembering the smell of Cormoran’s shirt. “If I’ve not got the confidence to make a move on someone I know, there’s no way I’m going to manage a blind date.”

She realised a moment after speaking what had just come out of her mouth. That second glass of wine on an empty stomach really hadn’t been a good idea.  
  
Ilsa squealed. “Come on then, spill the beans, who is he?”

She was already mentally running through a list of all the men that she was aware of in Robin’s life. Wardle – married; Spanner – highly unlikely; Shanker – as if…

Robin could almost see Ilsa’s brain working, and after a few moments, she merely looked at her friend sheepishly.

“It’s stupid I know,” she sighed. “He definitely doesn’t see me that way and I could never live up to his glamorous exes. Perhaps I should try online dating, might be a welcome distraction.”

Ilsa was more or less bouncing up and down in her seat with excitement.

“Robin, you are absolutely being stupid…but only because you have to tell him how you feel. Nick and I have known him forever and we’ve been saying for…well, since before you got married to be honest, that it’s obvious he adores you.”

“C’mon Isla. I mean, I know he thinks highly of me as a friend and colleague, but I really don’t think he sees me…shhh, that’s the front door.”

Nick ambled in with a bag of snacks, beers and wine, accompanied by Strike with more of the same, having bumped into him on the street outside.

“Evening,” he murmured to the two women, stooping to kiss first Ilsa, then, more awkwardly, Robin.

A glance passed between the two women as he turned away to find a bottle opener.

“Right,” saidan oblivious Nick, rubbing his hands together and picking up the takeaway menu. “Let’s get this curry ordered.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes eavesdroppers do hear good things about themselves!

A couple of hours later, having eaten their fill and retired to the sitting room, Cormoran stood up and announced his intention to go out to the garden for a smoke.

“Think I’ll join you mate, I could do with some fresh air,” announced Nick.

They sat at the little wrought iron patio table, with fresh beers and plant pot between them for Strike to use as an ashtray.

“Penny for ‘em?” asked Nick, taking a gulp of beer and setting his bottle back down on the table.

Strike exhaled loudly.

“What’s going on with you and Robin? You cut the tension between you two with a knife this evening…it’s nothing to do with these photos is it?”

Strike looked at his friend in utter shock.

“How do you…why…have you seen them?”

Strike found a bubble of anger rising from the pit of his stomach at the thought that Nick might have seen photos of Robin looking like…well…that.

“No, I don’t even know what all the fuss is about. All I know is that there are photos and Robin came around early to show them to Ilsa. I heard your name being mentioned while they were on the phone so assumed you were involved. Is it a case?”

Strike took a long, deep drag on his cigarette.

“No.”

Nick waited. He knew from years of experience that getting Strike to talk about anything that was troubling him was like getting blood out of a stone.

“April Wardle talked Robin into having some photos taken by a friend of hers. She dropped the proofs to the office and the envelopes got switched, Robin took the work photos home and I got hers.”

Nick looked at him, baffled.

“So? You swap them back and crack on, what’s the problem?”

“Robin’s photos were…they weren’t exactly…oh fuck. Have you heard of boudoir photography?”

“Erm…does that mean what I think it means?”

Strike nodded, stubbed out his cigarette and resumed his beer.

“Blimey!”

“Yep.”

“So did you see…”

“No! I mean I couldn’t help seeing them but I didn’t spend hours perving over them, obviously.”

In the sitting room, Robin and Ilsa had run out of wine.

“I’ll get it,” offered Robin, “Is there some in the fridge?”

“No, but I popped a bottle in the chest freezer in the utility room to quick chill.”

Robin made her way to the little room off the far end of the kitchen. The only window, high up on the wall was open onto the patio and the sound of Nick and Strike’s voices drifted through, unaware of her presence.

“So basically, you’re moping because you want what you can’t have?” chuckled Nick. “I don’t see what’s new, you’ve felt this way about her for ages.”  
  
Robin bristled. She’d known this day would come and that he’d eventually move on from Lorelei and start dating someone else. She’d just hoped it might be…well, there was no point thinking about that now, he was obviously besotted with some glamorous It-girl or supermodel, knowing his previous track record.

She opened the freezer and began looking for the wine.

“But now I have those images in my head, and God, Nick, I’ve always thought she was a very sexy woman, I’m not blind but…wow. She was so beautiful in those photos, not just the obvious stuff but she looked luminous and so confident…” he tailed off briefly, aware that he was starting to sound like a teenage boy in the grip of his first crush. “I was managing to kid myself that my feelings were platonic, that I loved her as a friend and respected her as a colleague and business partner…”

_A what?!_

Robin’s head shot up and she smacked it on the lid of the freezer.

“Ow, bugger!”

On the other side of the wall, Strike looked at Nick in horror. Nick was smirking back at him.

Strike’s shoulder’s slumped and he reached into his pocket for his cigarettes.

* * *

“Omigod Ilsa, you won’t believe what I’ve just heard! I think you might be right.”

Robin’s words were tumbling out in a rushed whisper as she entered the sitting room bearing the icy bottle of wine.

Ilsa, who was laying back on the sofa, drifting slightly on the wine she’d already consumed, opened her eyes and looked at her friend.

“Right ‘bout wha’?” she mumbled.

“I’ve just heard Strike talking to Nick about the photos. He said he’d been trying to convince himself he only saw me platonically, but he doesn’t Ilsa…what am I going to do?!

Ilsa was wide awake now and fully paying attention. She tore the cap off the bottle of wine, poured a small glass and thrust it at Robin.

“You’re going to get that down you, put your big girl pants on – at least temporarily,” she winked, “…and make your move!”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Girl power!!! Robin makes her move.

As Nick and Strike arrived back in the sitting room ten minutes later, Ilsa shot Robin a conspiratorial glance, stretched extravagantly and yawned like a particularly soporific lioness.

“I know it’s only half ten, but I’m pooped,” she announced apologetically. “Would you mind if I called it a night? You guys carry on if you want to…”

“Actually, I’m feeling a bit done in myself,” agreed Nick ruefully. He’d received his instructions from Ilsa by text whilst they were still in the garden.

“Cab it is then,” suggested Robin brightly, “You sharing with me Cormoran?”

“Oh, um, yeah, okay then.”

* * *

The taxi sped over Battersea Bridge and Robin looked out of the window at the lights from the surrounding buildings reflecting pale gold off the inky water and smiled. She wasn’t sure that she had ever loved London more than she did at that moment. Capitalising on the wash of endorphins she was experienced she turned to Strike, smiling slightly.

“It’s a bit early for a Friday night and my flatmate’s away for the weekend. Do you fancy a night cap when we get back to mine? I think I’ve got some of that Scotch you like.”

She knew she had his favourite Scotch. She’d bought a small bottle after hearing him talk about it and was curious, just as she had been about Doom Bar, which was now her beer of choice with a curry, rather than the lager she’d opted for prior to meeting him.

Sitting beside her, Strike felt a little as if he was at the top of a roller coaster, but not entirely sure how he’d got there or where the track led. Something seemed to have altered between them since she’d overheard their conversation in the garden, and not in the way he would have expected. He tried not to get his hopes up as the cab turned into Old Brompton Road, knowing Robin’s flat was in one of the side roads.

“Yeah,” he smiled back, slightly disconcerted at the tone of his voice, which was huskier than he’s intended, “Nightcap sounds good.”

They disembarked the taxi, Robin paid the driver and skipped up the steps to her front door, rummaging in her bag for her keys as her heart thundered in her chest.

_Don’t let nerves get the better of you now…_

“Go on through,” she said indicating the sitting room, and following to throw her bag artlessly onto the coffee table. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that the envelope of photos had spilled out onto the glass top. “I’ll just get the drinks.”

She purposely took her time, giving the rarely used crystal tumblers that belonged to her flatmate a gentle polish with a clean tea towel before adding a couple of fingers of whisky, a large ice cube and a splash of chilled water to each. She still had her phone in her pocket and pulled it out, using the smart apps her flatmate was so passionate about to tweak the sitting room lighting and put some appropriate music on. ‘Stay’ by Rihanna filled the small, cosy space.

Robin had predicted correctly. As she stood in the doorway, she saw that Strike was looking, mesmerised but clearly somewhat uncomfortable at the envelope full of photos.

She moved slowly and deliberately across the room, passed him one of the glasses, and lowered herself onto the two-seater sofa next to him.

“So…” her eyes twinkling in the warm, pale amber light she’d selected as she nodded in the direction of the envelope. “What did you think?”

“I um…like I said, I really didn’t look at them properly.”

He wasn’t sure how long she’d been in the utility room, how much she’d heard.

She smiled thoughtfully at him, picked up the envelope and placed it on his lap, letting her fingertips just brush his thigh as she let go of it.

“Now’s your chance then,” she whispered.

“Jesus, Robin…what are you doing?”

Robin took a large sip of whisky, leaned forward and placed the glass on the coffee table.

“I’m asking for your opinion,” she teased, softly. There was a wicked glimmer in her eyes, which were a deeper, darker blue than usual. Strike briefly wondered if it was due to the lighting or something else. Whatever it was, she was exuding a kind of confidence he had never seen from her before, more than confidence in her intelligence or her abilities, a complete confidence in herself as a woman.

It was sexy as hell, and his body was already beginning to respond. Fair enough, he thought, if this is way she wants it to go down.

He picked up the envelope, pulled out the photos and began leafing through, commenting here and there, always favourably, whilst she watched him, quietly sipping her whisky.

“I think this is my favourite though…” he held out the one of her in the damp white shirt that had completely broken his resolve two nights previously, “…you’re glowing.”

She laughed softly.

“Ah, yes, Ilsa described that as a ‘freshly fucked look’. Not entirely accurate of course…” she arched an eyebrow and took another sip of whisky, her gaze never leaving his.

The words hung between them, slowly sinking into Strike’s consciousness, did she mean…? He could hardly bear to think about what she was implying. Already painfully hard, if he thought about her pleasuring herself he was fairly certain he’d come before he’d even kissed her.

“Robin, tell me what you want from me, please,” he begged, his voice hoarse. Somewhere in the back of his mind was still a tiny voice telling him that this was a wind up, that she was punishing him in some weird way for having seen the photos even by accident. He knew that it was a hangover from the mind games that he’d gotten so used to Charlotte playing over the years, it wasn’t Robin… _his Robin._

Her face softened.

“You know I heard what you said to Nick earlier? Well, what I want is for you to know that I feel the same way. I have done for ages, but I needed to get past the divorce, and then, I hoped you’d say something but you never did so I thought…I thought I wasn’t enough for you.”

Strike met her eye for a moment, incredulous, and then his hands were cradling her cheeks and his mouth was on hers, desperate but gentle. She moaned softly and his tongue slipped between Robin’s parted lips, only to be enthusiastically greeted by hers. Neither of them knew how long it was before they pulled apart.

“Don’t ever say that,” he urged her, “Don’t even think it. Robin you are my friend, my colleague, my partner, you’re…you’re everything.”

She giggled through happy tears, then looked up at him.

“There’s one thing you’ve missed you know. I’m not your lover.”

He looked at her, eyes burning. She could see his chest moving, his breathing rapid and feel his racing pulse where her fingertips rested just above his wrist.

“Would you like to change that?”

“Please,” she replied, getting to her feet, pulling him with her.


	8. Finally...

Strike followed Robin into her bedroom. It looked very different to how he remembered it from when he’d helped her move in, but he barely had time to register the changes before her arms were wrapped around him.

He instinctively pulled her closer, one hand in her hair, the other around her waist as he backed her gently up against the wall. His tongue explored her mouth eagerly and she reciprocated with equal enthusiasm, licking and nibbling at his mouth in a way that made him shudder with want. His hand on her waist moved slightly higher, tracing slow, lazy circles on the soft, warm skin of her back, exposed by the simple black halter neck dress she was wearing.

He pulled away for a second, breathing hard, his eyes darker than she had ever seen them.

“Would you…please?”

He asked with gentle pressure on her hip and she turned as requested to face the wall as his hands stroked slowly up her back and she felt his breath hot in her ear as he undid the halter neck tie and the top of the dress fell away.

“The green dress and pearls photo was another one of my favourites,” he whispered huskily, sliding his fingers into her silky hair, twisting it around and holding it out of the way to allow him to press his lips against the nape of her neck. Robin let out a soft whimper of pleasure and he kissed her again, a little lower this time…then again, and again, gradually tracing a path down the length of her spine until he reached the waistband of the dress. 

His hands on her hips pushed the fabric away and the dress dropped to the floor, revealing a pair of vaguely familiar cranberry coloured lace shorts. He hooked a fingertip in the elastic and pushed it aside, swirling his tongue into the small dimples that sat either side of the base of her spine, before pushing them down completely.

He nuzzled his way back up her spine, the contrast of his soft lips and the tantalising friction of his facial hair turning Robin on even more than she’d thought possible. Strike pulled back the hair from her left shoulder and let his tongue and teeth linger on the soft curve where it joined her neck, breathing in her glorious, familiar scent as he revelled in her moans of appreciation. His hand slid over the curves of her hip, round to her stomach and up her torso to cup her breasts, her nipples bullet-hard against his palms. His erection was straining at the front of his jeans and she arched her back slightly, rubbing against him like a cat, eliciting a whispered fuck, before he turned her back around to face him, stepped away and simply drank in the sight of her, naked in front of him, so close that he could feel heat radiating from her.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he growled.  
“…and I’m at a distinct disadvantage,” she smirked, pulling him fractionally closer with a finger in his waistband and beginning to slowly unbutton his shirt. As her fingers worked nimbly at his buttons and they kissed and kissed, she gradually backed him across the room until his legs hit the bed and he sat down. She straddled his lap, his hands warm on her backside, his thick chest hair gloriously ticklish against her breasts.

She pulled back for a moment, her eyes sparkling as she looked at him, a soft smile playing around her lips.

“I’ve wanted this for so long, I can’t quite believe it’s really happening.”

He quirked an eyebrow and grinned wickedly at her.

“What would it take for me to convince you?” he rumbled.

“I’m sure you can think of something…” she teased back, “…surprise me.”

Strike’s arms tightened around Robin’s waist and in one swift movement he lifted her from his lap and dropped her gently into the middle of the bed, stretching his body over hers and shooting her wolfish glance that made her breath catch in her throat.

His tongue licked into her mouth as he covered her, hands exploring the softly undulating curves that he’d fantasised about for longer than he could remember, although truth be told, with Robin’s skin under his fingertips, the scent of her surrounding him and her moans of pleasure echoing in his ears, he could barely remember his own name just then.

His fingers tangled in her hair pushing it aside to allow his mouth access to the arc of her ear lobe, the tender flesh of her neck. He could feel her pulse thudding beneath his lips as he kissed and sucked his way down to her shoulder, along her collarbone and over the curve of one pale, perfect breast.  
Robin could feel his hot breath against her skin, his mouth tantalisingly close but not making contact. She waited for several moments, eventually dragging her eyes open to meet his dark green gaze.

“Do you believe this is happening yet?” he smirked, maintaining eye contact as his tongue flicked across her nipple making her cry out involuntarily.

Her instinctive answer was God yes, but a mischievous streak bubbling inside wanted to see exactly what else he had in mind to convince her.

“I’m not sure…almost.”

He chuckled as be bent his head to take the swollen peak between his teeth, nibbling gently as he caressed her other breast with skilful fingertips and his hand crept slowly up her thigh until she caught his wrist with her hand. He stopped immediately, looking up at her, the lust his eyes suddenly replaced with concern.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine, it’s just…this…” she waved a finger in his general direction, and briefly licked her lips “…the jeans…they’re not really working for my willing suspension of disbelief.”

“Oh,” he gave an imperceptible sigh of relief.

“And, um, I don’t think keeping your boxers on is going to cut it either.”

She was trying to keep a straight face and failing. Strike meanwhile was gazing at her like he’d never laid eyes on another woman in his life and wondering how the fuck he’d got this lucky. Even in his wildest dreams, he’d never imagined it would be like this with Robin. Not only was she beautiful but she was relaxed, even funny in a way he’d never contemplated she might be in a bedroom context. He had, to be frank, imagined something very different, and he realised there and then that had he not already been head over heels in love with her before they’d made it to the bedroom, he certainly would have been by now.

“Are you asking me to strip, Ellacott?”

“Yes…I believe I am.”

Strike got to his feet, his eyes not leaving hers. Robin thought that the jangle of his buckle and the swish of leather against the denim belt loops on his jeans might be the sexiest sound she had ever heard. He divested himself of both trousers and boxers as far as he was able and sat on the edge of the bed to remove his prosthesis and finish the job, before turning back to Robin.

“Better?”

In the lamp light he could see that she was blushing as her eyes travelled over his body, but it certainly wasn’t stopping her from looking. 

“Much.”

“Good…now, where were we?”

He returned his attentions to Robin’s other, thus far neglected nipple, sucking it languorously into his mouth as his hand moved lower, sliding over the top of her thigh, this time unhindered. Her legs parted at his gentle pressure and he could feel the heat radiating from her core, fuelling his own arousal. He stroked her with featherlight touches until she bucked her hips up against his hand and he allowed himself to slide a single finger between her slick folds. An animalistic groan escaped from somewhere deep in Strike’s diaphragm at the realisation that she was soaking wet for him.

“God almighty, Robin…” he mumbled against her skin, as he explored her tentatively, watching as she writhed and squirmed under his ministrations. His cock was iron hard against her leg, but he wasn’t finished pleasuring her yet.

He manoeuvred himself carefully into position, wanting to give her time to object if she wasn’t comfortable, and when all he heard from her were soft whimpers of anticipation, he lowered his mouth to her centre and indulged in what had long been one of his favourite fantasies.

Strike loved giving oral sex and knew that he was bloody good at it. His felt himself grow impossibly harder as he teased her outer lips with the tip of his tongue, groaning at the salty sweet taste of her on his tongue. He revelled in the change to her breathing as he continued to explore every luscious inch of her, lapping and circling her clit, sucking it slowly into his mouth and pulsing his tongue against the sensitive bundle of nerves, before dipping lower, licking into her entrance.

He was somewhat surprised, but thrilled, to feel her fingers in his hair pulling at his dark curls whenever he hit a particularly sensitive spot, and her hips grinding up to his lips with abandon.

Her moans and gasps of pleasure soon gave way to more, the sound of her sighing his name and urging him to “don’t stop…please…don’t stop” made him smile against her skin as his mouth travelled back up her body to her mouth for a deep, scorching kiss.

Robin took the opportunity of his proximity to slide her hand down his hip and in between them to touch him for the first time. She failed to withhold her gasp at the feel of him, so very hard and hot.

He growled at the sensation of her fingers wrapping around him, sliding up and down his throbbing length.

“Robin, if you want this to go any further, you’re going to have to stop that right now,” his voice was like honey on gravel.

“Condoms…drawer…” was all she could manage in response. They were another, highly fortuitous, post-divorce offering from her best friend, and mercifully, she knew, still in date.

She watched Strike remove the condom from its foil packet and roll it into place, tingling with anticipation, and, if she was honest, wishing she was still on the Pill, that she could feel everything with him this first time.

He lowered himself back down and kissed her, slowly and tenderly, almost like a first kiss except that they were naked and she could feel his cock nudging at her entrance. He raised his head, looking down at her. Her face was completely blissed out, eyes closed…

“Open your eyes,” he whispered hoarsely, and when she obeyed, “Look at me Ellacott.”

His breathing was barely controlled as his eyes, almost black with desire locked onto hers, two whirlpools of stormy sea and he slowly, pushed into her, filling her completely in one long, deep thrust.

Her head melted back onto the pillows with a sigh of absolute ecstasy, and his dropped to her shoulder where he caught his breath for several moments before tracing a line of hot, wet kisses up the pale column of her neck as he began to slide inside her, every stroke exquisitely lingering and deliberate.

Neither Strike nor Robin had any idea how long they moved together like that or when the slow languorous slip and slide of his cock inside her became more urgent. She was barely conscious of moving her hands to his well-defined arse to push him harder, deeper into her. He didn’t register when the slight rock of her hips began to form a rhythm with his own movements, bringing them both closer and closer to the edge.

He was certain though, that he'd never forget the sounds of pleasure she made, and she knew she would always remember the tone of his voice and the heat of his breath on her skin when he told her how good she felt, how much he needed her, had always needed her…

She came moments before him, her nails making tiny crescents in his skin. The sharp sensation combined with the intense tightening of her core around him catapulted Strike to his own climax, her name hoarse on his lips, before they fell, wrapped around one another, into a deep and sated sleep.


End file.
